The Rise of Crenshinibon
by The Hourglass Mage
Summary: A fanfic I wrote a long time ago. Gromph Baenre has plans for Menzoberranzan that could bring the ultimate downfall of the city. Please review. :
1. Chapter 1

Kimmuriel walked the halls of Bregan D'aerthe, his boots clicking softly against the stone. All had not been the same since the psionic had taken over for Jarlaxle, the former Mercenary leader. After the fall of Crenshinibon, or the Crystal Shard, an evil artifact that had held Jarlaxle under its persuasive spell for a long time, nearly causing the fall of Bregan D'aerthe, a band made up completely of rogue males. Rai-guy and Kimmuriel, two of Jarlaxle's treacherous lieutenants, attempted to overthrow the opportunistic mercenary leader. Once Crenshinibon was destroyed, Jarlaxle surrendered Bregan D'aerthe to Kimmuriel, but also warned the drow male that he would perhaps one day be back to claim his seat of power.  
The fine hairs on the back of the psionic's neck began to stand on end. Something felt out of place.  
"Do you sense it?" Kimmuriel felt the mind flayer, Yharaskrik, ask.  
"Yes," he replied. "Something is out of place here."  
"Investigate it if you wish, but be on your guard, psionic."  
"I am no fool, Yharaskrik; I am always on my guard." Kimmuriel dropped the mind communication then and there.  
The drow turned on his heel and began to walk down the opposite end of the hall, his boots still scuffling against the stone floor. It made him wish he had Jarlaxle's talent for stealth.  
Maybe if he ever saw the mercenary again, he would ask about it.

Dvinil felt it, too, and the general sense of uneasiness caused him to drop his lizard's reins and take up his crossbow. Red eyes glowing with infravision scanned the darkness of Menzoberranzan's caverns, but he saw nothing other than the large giant mushrooms that bloomed on the cave's walls, smooth white tops glowing faintly with blue faery light. However, the drow did not put away his crossbow. He knew that just because he couldn't see anything didn't mean there was nothing there.  
He picked up his reins again, still holding his crossbow in one hand, and eased his lizard deeper into the cavern. His eyes wandered from left to right; yet he still saw nothing out of the ordinary. Relaxing somewhat, the drow replaced the crossbow on his saddle, picking up the reins with both hands this time.  
A moment later a burning pain shot up his side.  
Dvinil glanced down to his side and saw a wicked dart protruding from it. His eyelids were already beginning to droop with the effects of the potion when he wrapped his fingers over the instrument and pulled it out, gritting his teeth sharply against the pain. His lithe form drooped over the neck of his lizard; he barely had the strength to glance up when he heard footsteps coming towards him.  
A tall drow stopped in front of him. Dvinil did not see much more than the tops of the boots and the cape of colors until the drow knelt in front of him on one knee, and then he saw that it was definitely male, and wearing an outlandish overpowering hat with a huge white plume. The drow crooked his index finger and grasped Dvinil's chin, tilting his head up until he was staring the drow right into his good eye, the other hidden in a patch of darkness behind a ruby eyepatch.  
"My apologies, Dvinil," the new drow said quietly. Dvinil struggled to recognize the drow in front of him, and did not make the connection until the very last minute when he felt the cold steel edge of a dagger slicing through the tender skin of his throat.

"I said I would be back, Kimmuriel."  
Kimmuriel turned immediately around, slender sword flashing. He scanned the room for the source of the voice.  
There was a slight chuckle.  
"Well met," the voice had a hint of mockery. Kimmuriel snarled.  
"I know not who you are," he growled, forcing himself to remain calm.  
"Oh," the voice sounded genuinely wounded. "It has not been so long. I thought you might have recognized me."  
"How can I recognize someone I do not see?" the drow demanded, eyes still scanning the shadows. "Who are you? And what is your purpose in Bregan D'aerthe."  
There was a moment's pause, and the psionic tensed.  
Jarlaxle stepped from the shadows.  
"I have come to reclaim my throne," he replied.  
Kimmuriel's white eyebrows shot up, and his sword snaked out towards the mercenary hardly without a thought. Jarlaxle slapped the blade away, clutching a tiny throwing dagger in his hands.  
"Not quite the reaction I expected from you, Kimmuriel," Jarlaxle said. "I had hoped this might go differently but, ah, well."  
A globe of darkness began to settle over the psionic's vision. He dropped his sword and clawed at Jarlaxle, trying to dispel the darkness that was beginning to creep in from the corners of his vision. He found himself clawing at empty air.  
When Kimmuriel could see again, he found himself in the chair behind Jarlaxle's stone desk. His wrists and ankles had been bound tightly, and the tip of a sharp dagger pricked the back of his neck, a reminder to behave for if he did not then Jarlaxle's pet human assassin Artemis Entreri would remind him to.  
Jarlaxle sat on the corner of the desk, one ankle hooked under his knee, jewelry clinking with every movement.  
"I was beginning to fear you would not wake," Jarlaxle remarked, tipping his hat to the still-drowsy Kimmuriel.  
"Why are you here?" the captured psionic asked helplessly, not even bothering to struggle against his bonds.  
"I believe I specified that," Jarlaxle replied thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly to one side. "In the hallway."  
"You've come back for Bregan D'aerthe,"  
"As I said I would," the drow mercenary's tone was more than condescending. Kimmuriel wanted to call up every demon at his disposal to come and rip Jarlaxle apart, but he knew that Entreri's dagger would be embedded deeply in his neck if he even attempted magic.  
Kimmuriel lifted his eyes resigningly to meet with Jarlaxle's.  
"So now you kill me," he reasoned.  
"Did I say that?" Jarlaxle shifted positions, drawing his cloak of colors back to display an item hanging from his belt. Kimmuriel leaned in closer to peer at it, Entreri's dagger following him down.  
"What is it?" the psionic asked, his voice holding a questioning lilt. Jarlaxle grasped the handle of the scimitar on his belt and withdrew it, it slid easily from the oiled scabbard, the blade glowing faintly blue.  
"This is a weapon once belonging to the rogue Drizzt Do'Urden," Jarlaxle explained while Kimmuriel stared admiringly at the fine work of the blade. "I took it from him in a fight on the Surface. It is quite a fine piece of work. I believe its name is Twinkle." he glanced back to Kimmuriel, red eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts. "Drizzt shall be sorely missing its company," he added. "It is my belief he shall be soon in coming after it."  
"And what is my role in all this?" the psionic asked, eyes following the scimitar as Jarlaxle carefully slid it back into its sheathe.  
"Gromph Baenre has expressed interested in the rogue. If - when - Drizzt comes to retrieve his weapon..."  
"Drizzt is no longer of any significance," Kimmuriel cut in, the tip of Entreri's dagger just beginning to break the surface of his dark skin. It earned him another chuckle from Jarlaxle.  
"Not to the Matron Mothers, perhaps," the mercenary leader cryptically replied.  
"But what could Gromph Baenre possibly..." he was interrupted by a vague wave of Jarlaxle's hand.  
"All in good time," the mercenary promised.

Drizzt tightened his grip on his one remaining scimitar, Icingdeath, while absentmindedly scratching Guenhyvvar's head to keep the great cat calm. The patrol below had excited her, and her claws flexed impatiently as she waited for the command to go and slaughter each and every cursed, evil drow.  
Catti-Brie squatted on the other side of Drizzt, Heartseeker bow clutching tightly in her deceivingly delicate hands. Drizzt knew that those soft hands could ball instantly into fists of iron that could smash an orc's face. He smiled at the young woman and she smiled back. Drizzt felt his chest tighten at the sight. How he loved her!  
"Are you ready?" he signaled to her, using the most basic movements of the intricate drow sign language that he was trying to teach her.  
"Yes," she signed back, or tried to. Her human fingers, no matter how slender, could never match up to the dexterity that belonged to the drow. After fumbling with the sign, she punctuated her meaning with a nod.  
Drizzt released Guenhyvvar, who went shooting down the rock formation like a black jet stream. Drizzt drew Icingdeath and wished sorely for Twinkle, but reminded himself that if it weren't for the missing scimitar they wouldn't even be going back to wretched Menzoberranzan in the first place.  
He skid down the rock formation to the patrol, where Guenhyvvar was already taking care of things. The great panther bore down the first drow she saw before he even had a chance to draw his sword. She drove him into the ground, both large paws on his shoulders, and then she clamped her maw around his throat. Another drow soldier spotted his fallen companion and rushed towards the panther, crossbow loaded and ready to fire. He did not get two steps before Catti-Brie's bow sang and a whistling arrow struck him solidly through his chest.  
Icingdeath scored the next hit, shattering another drow's kneecap. The drow gasped and collapsed, curled up in a ball of pain and clutching its wounded knee. Drizzt did not go for the kill; rather he leapt over the fallen drow and turned to the next immediate threat.  
No matter how many were cut down, more drow seemed to spring up literally from the ground not long after the dust settled under the dead. It baffled Drizzt, but he had no time to ponder life's little quirks as he continued to fight off more and more drow in hopes that their numbers would die down soon.  
A poison dart tore into Guenhyvvar's flank. She roared and swiped at her attacker, who fired another dart into her leg. The cat ignored it and dug her claws into the drow's sides, ripping holes into his lungs. The drow gasped for breath and drew his dagger, but he didn't get to put it to use before he fell down dead, an arrow through his throat.  
Catti-Brie reached behind her to load another arrow, already eyeing the drow she intended to bring down. A hand grabbed her wrist from behind her in a cold, iron grip and a second hand clamped over her mouth. The human woman thrashed, legs flailing wildly as she was slowly lifted off the ground. Her struggling came to an abrupt halt when she felt the sharp, honed edge of a knife scrape across her throat.  
"Cease, Drizzt Do'Urden!" Kimmuriel called in a voice amplified with the use of magic. "Drop your weapon and call off your cat, or she draws her last breath here and now."  
Drizzt spun on his heel to face the ledge, surprise splayed across his handsome features. He did not hesitate; he immediately dropped Icingdeath to the ground. Guenhyvvar looked up, blood dripping from her muzzle, making sure Drizzt did not need help when she heard his weapon clatter to the dirt. How surprised she was when he called her back to his side! Growling with impatience, the cat padded over to Drizzt and sat down beside him, head nuzzling his knee.  
Kimmuriel nodded to his soldiers, and they immediately surrounded Drizzt, two of them grabbed his arms and another picked up Icingdeath from the ground before checking for any other weapons. When he was certain Drizzt was clean, he nodded to Kimmuriel and backed away, still holding Icingdeath in his hands, admiring the fine blade.  
"Can I trust you to keep your cat in check?" Kimmuriel asked. Drizzt glared up at him.  
"Yes," he responded.  
Kimmuriel nodded and set Catti-Brie back down on the ground. His dagger slid away from her throat and back into its sheathe. His hand still held her wrist, however, twisting it behind her back painfully at an awkward angle, causing her shoulder to arch and her face to gray in pain as if it were chiseled from stone.  
"You come with us willingly, Do'Urden, or we can drag you along. Just remember whatever pain you force upon yourself shall return to her tenfold."  
Drizzt nodded to show he understood and allowed one of the drow behind him to secure his arms tightly behind his back.  
Kimmuriel handed Catti-Brie over to one of the soldiers and levitated himself off the ledge, landing safely on both feet. "It is a good thing that you are so cooperative," he said to Drizzt. "I'd hate to have to drag you all the way back to Jarlaxle."  
Drizzt's lavender eyes flashed with anger. He thought he and Jarlaxle had settled their differences, or at least agreed to leave each other in peace. Apparently that was not so, the battle that had occurred between the two of them not long ago was evidence of that. He shouldn't have expected anything less from the opportunistic dark elf.  
"What does he want with Drizzt?" Catti-Brie demanded. Kimmuriel responded with merely a shrug.  
"I do not know Jarlaxle's intentions, I only carry out his orders," he replied in the common Surface tongue.  
"We be wanting no fight with ye!" she protested. "We only came to this wretched goblin-hole to be getting Drizzt's scimitar back!"  
Kimmuriel silenced her with a dismissive wave of his hand.  
"Jarlaxle knows of your quest," was all the explanation he offered before signing to the soldiers. Before he even finished signing, Drizzt felt a needle stick his skin and a powerful sleeping potion began to take effect. The last thing Drizzt wondered before his world slipped into complete darkness was what game Jarlaxle could possibly be playing now.

Gromph Baenre shoved the drawer back in so forcefully the entire desk shuddered. It had been a long day, he was tired, and it seemed as if one third of his life had been spent in the last hour searching for answers that just weren't there.  
His gaze wandered over the many items of his desk, finally settling on one in particular. Perhaps the most powerful item to ever find its way to Menzoberranzan, perhaps the most powerful item in the world.  
Crenshinibon.  
Gromph could hear the call of the Crystal Shard, promising ultimate chaos and glory to any worthy wielder. It was enough to make any drow's eyes sparkle. Gromph shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his thoughts. He knew the item for what it was, an artifact, nothing more than a mere artifact. Its promises were as fleeting as a human's life. Anyone who fell under its hypnotic persuasions was immediately sealing their own doom.  
A light knock came from the door. Gromph looked up, irritated to be interrupted.  
"Yes?" he snapped.  
The door opened, and Rai-guy stepped into the room.  
Rai-guy bowed to Gromph, his eyes fixed up Crenshinibon, as if it were the only thing in the room. Gromph quickly covered the artifact with his hand and scowled. He had saved the drow - for purposes completely of his own - and also Crenshinibon for he knew how Rai-guy lusted after the Crystal Shard and how easily manipulated he could be with such a sweet temptation dangling before his eyes.  
The mangled dark elf took a staggering step forward. Gromph had not been able to save him completely from the dragon's hellish fires. Half of Rai-guy's face closely resembled melted plastic, and the effect worked all the way down from his forehead to his collarbone on the right side of his face. The other half remained as whole and as perfect as it had ever been. His thick white mane had been burnt away and had been trying to grow back the past few months. He had lost the use of his right eye; it had developed what seemed a layer of film over the burning red iris.  
Rai-guy stumbled forward another step, then dropped to his knees in front of Gromph. The Baenre grimaced as Rai-guy lifted his grotesque face and they locked gazes.  
"The Shard," Rai-guy pleaded. "You promised me the Shard."  
"When the job was done," Gromph hissed. "It is not yet done."  
Rai-guy fell back, defeated. He had lost more than just his eye and features to the wicked flames, he had lost his wits. The only thing keeping him alive now was the desire to possess Crenshinibon, the very desire that had led him to sell his soul to Gromph Baenre in the first place. Without the Crystal Shard, Rai-guy would have no motivation in life and would very soon die. And Gromph could not allow that to happen.  
Not yet, anyway.  
Gromph waved his hand, and Rai-guy slowly rose to his feet, madness gleaming in his one remaining eye. He looked to Gromph expectantly. Eager to please, eager to serve, eager to march into single-handed battle against the Spider Queen herself if only to possess Crenshinibon.  
"Jarlaxle comes this way," Gromph addressed his newest tool. "Greet him, and lead him here to me."  
Rai-guy nodded, saluted, and spun on his heel towards the door.  
When he had left, Gromph uncovered Crenshinibon. The wicked thing was glowing faintly with hopes that it might someday rise to power again. Gromph was not overly concerned on who ended up with the Shard or what they did with it. As long as they stayed out of his way and did not interfere with his plans, they could do anything they wanted and he would lose no sleep. After all, the Shard was merely another tool for the great Baenre. He had no desire to keep it for himself. The thing fed off sunlight, a fact that immediately repulsed the drow elf. No, let other kingdoms fall under the mighty Crenshinibon's shadow. Gromph was after a bigger prize.

Jarlaxle felt the familiar vibrations bouncing off of Sorcere and he frowned. It was almost as if something were…calling to him. Like the dreadful Crystal Shard used to call to him, only that was impossible, Crenshinibon had been destroyed, consumed in the very flames that took the life of his treacherous lieutenant Rai-guy.  
Entreri knew what was on Jarlaxle's mind; he was thinking the same thing himself. He too, felt that familiar call. It made him dread the meeting with Gromph Baenre, who could have easily been listed among Jarlaxle as one of Menzoberranzan's most powerful males.  
Jarlaxle shot Entreri a look, which the assassin only responded to with a shrug. Neither had any idea on what was going on. But, they both had a feeling that they were about to find out.  
"Jarlaxle?"  
Jarlaxle spun around to face the voice that came from nowhere. His mouth nearly dropped open when he saw Rai-guy staring straight at him. Entreri recoiled in horror at the sight of the drow. What a horror he had become! Jarlaxle stared in open disbelief. He couldn't believe it. Rai-guy was dead.  
"Rai-guy…it's not possible…" Jarlaxle peered closely at his old lieutenant to see if it was indeed he. It was, but the look in Rai-guy's one good remaining eye was enough for Jarlaxle to realize that Rai-guy no longer knew him from a gray dwarf. No spark of recognition ever flared in the drow's eye. His mind (if indeed he still had one!) was clearly on something else.  
Jarlaxle took a step back, shaking his head slowly.  
"No, my friend," he said when he noticed Entreri had gotten over his initial shock and was reaching for his dagger.  
"He's supposed to be dead," Entreri argued, but slid the dagger back into his sheathe anyway. Jarlaxle nodded, thoughtfully.  
"Yes, he is. But apparently, dead no longer."  
Entreri shook his head.  
"How is that possible?" he asked. Jarlaxle merely shrugged.  
"With Gromph Baenre, nothing is impossible." Was the only explanation Entreri received. And, he felt, the only one he was going to wrench from the mercenary.  
"Jarlaxle," Rai-guy repeated.  
Jarlaxle nodded. When Rai-guy didn't respond, the mercenary sighed and said aloud, "Yes."  
Rai-guy nodded, turned, and began to lead them towards Sorcere.

Gromph Baenre was the Arch-Mage of Menzoberranzan, and perchance the most powerful wizard in all of Sorcere. His office was filled with many sharp, dangerous, and magical objects that Jarlaxle knew from personal experience that it was best not to touch. The great man himself sat behind desk, waiting.  
Jarlaxle tipped his hat to Gromph, who returned the greeting with the barest of nods. Jarlaxle's eyes fell to the object on the Arch-Mage's desk. His eyes popped open wide. First Rai-guy, now Crenshinibon!  
The mercenary fought hard to keep his breath even. He had thought Crenshinibon was destroyed forever, he himself had watched the flames consume it…  
Apparently not.  
Jarlaxle slowly lifted his eyes again and locked stares with Gromph. The Arch-Mage was grinning slyly, as if for once he knew something that he mercenary didn't.  
A bit miffed, Jarlaxle smiled and moved closer to the desk. Rai-guy stepped aside until he was standing next to Entreri. The assassin's hand moved slowly to the hilt of his dagger, but he did not draw it. Not yet.  
"Do you know what this is, Jarlaxle?" Gromph asked, gesturing towards the Crystal Shard.  
"Of course I know of Crenshinibon," Jarlaxle replied coolly, noticing the hungry, animal look that splayed across Rai-guy's face at the mention of the name. Jarlaxle reached towards the Shard, only wishing to close his fingers around it once more and feel the steady thrumming of power, beating as regularly as a heartbeat…  
The flat of Entreri's jeweled dagger slammed into Jarlaxle's hand. The mercenary withdrew his hand immediately and glared at the assassin. Entreri merely shook his head.  
"Don't. It's pulling you under its spell again, you must resist it." He signed in the intricate hand-language of the drow, which he had just come to master. Jarlaxle hesitated, and then nodded.  
"Of course, you're right." He signed back. Gromph did not miss the silent words exchanged between the two, but he pretended to ignore it.  
"Are you Crenshinibon's new wielder, Gromph Baenre?" Jarlaxle dared to ask. Gromph shot him a glare from across the desk.  
"Crenshinibon does not wish me for its wielder," he replied. "I have resisted its calling so far, and now I believe it has given up completely on me. It wants someone else."  
Rai-guy flexed his hands, simply itching the snatch the Crystal Shard off of the Arch-Mage's desk and run.  
"So why all this?" Entreri piped up. "Crenshinibon, I can understand. But why bring back the annoying wizard?" here he gestured to Rai-guy. Rai-guy didn't seem to notice.  
"For my own purposes," Gromph replied. "Rai-guy is just another one of the necessary pieces I need to play my game with Quenthel."  
"How is she, anyhow?" Jarlaxle asked, fingers dancing across the Baenre's desk towards the Crystal Shard. Entreri's blade came down again and Jarlaxle drew back, cradling his smarting hand.  
"She will be dead soon, so it does not matter," Gromph put all the ire in his voice that he could manage. Jarlaxle merely nodded.  
"I have one more question," said Entreri. "Where does Drizzt fit into all this?"  
There was a long pause, as if Gromph were considering whether or not his question was worth answering.  
"Crenshinibon needs a new wielder," was all the explanation he offered.

Drizzt opened his eyes one at a time, the second slowly following the first. He had no idea where he was, nor where Catti-Brie was, as that he could not feel her near him at the time. He felt as if his entire body had been shredded to pieces by a whip of fangs.  
He made a great effort to sit up, but found the task impossible. He didn't have to look to know that the onyx panther figurine had been taken from his belt. He wondered where Guenhyvvar and Catti-Brie were, and if they were all right.  
A hand grabbed his forearm and hauled Drizzt to his feet. The sudden movement sent his world spinning and he fell forward, collapsing to one knee. He found himself staring at a pair of boots that he knew all too well.  
"Jarlaxle," he said.  
"Well met, Drizzt Do'Urden." Jarlaxle replied with a broad grin.  
Drizzt pushed himself up and slowly rose to his feet. His hands were still tied behind his back, and he felt he had a new bruise somewhere to add to his growing collection.  
He looked past Jarlaxle's shoulder and noticed Gromph Baenre seated behind his desk.  
"Who am I going to be sacrificed to now?" Drizzt asked wearily. Jarlaxle laughed.  
"Sacrificed? Whoever said anything about sacrifice?"  
"That's the usual reason I am brought to Menzoberranzan…"  
"If I am correct, we didn't bring you to our fair city, you came here entirely of your own free will."  
Drizzt glared at the mercenary leader, who was still smiling in amusement.  
"Then why was I brought here?" Drizzt demanded.  
As a response, Gromph picked up something from his desk and placed it into Jarlaxle's waiting palm. Jarlaxle rubbed the object for a moment, an almost wistful look crossing his face, and then turned back to Drizzt, extending his hand so that the ranger might see the item clearly.  
"Crenshinibon!" Drizzt exclaimed, stumbling back a step in surprise. He glared at Jarlaxle accusingly. "I thought you had destroyed it!"  
"So did I," Jarlaxle admitted.  
"Then how-"  
"Allow me to explain," Gromph said. "The Crystal Shard is an instrument of chaos. My fool sister knows that, and will eagerly seize the thing up for herself. It shall be her ultimate downfall."  
Drizzt stared.  
"You mean to bring down Lolth?" he asked in disbelief.  
Gromph shrugged.  
"No," he replied.  
"And where do I fit into all this?" Drizzt asked.  
In response, Gromph reached into his desk and brought out the Spider Mask.  
"You are going to make sure the Shard finds its way to Quenthel," he replied.  
Drizzt shook his head, but he seemed a bit confused. Jarlaxle was confused, too. And not much ever confused him. He wasn't seeing Gromph's bigger picture. What was that Arch-Mage up to? He highly doubted one of Menzoberranzan's most powerful males would go through all the trouble of preserving the Crystal Shard for something as petty as settling a sibling rivalry…  
He could only hope that all would be made known in due time.

Catti-Brie lay on her side, curled up in a little ball of pain, her arms hugging her knees to her chest and forehead pressed up against her knees, her auburn hair fanning out around her like a pool of blood. She had woken up in a room so completely dark that she could touch her eyeballs and still not see her fingers. Drizzt had not been there to whisper to her that everything would be fine. When she woke up without him, she had curled up and not moved from that position.  
Her muscles were beginning to ache, but she was afraid to uncurl and stretch in the infinite blackness.  
A pair of eyes appeared, hovering right in front of her. Catti-Brie curled up even tighter and shut her eyes, willing them to go away. Soft, slimy tentacles slid over her face and her neck, weaving into her auburn hair and pressing against her eyelids so that even if she wanted to open them again she couldn't. Catti-Brie wanted to scream, but her throat was tight.  
There was no mistaking the touch of an illthid.

Kimmuriel's hands dropped to his sides, settling on the hilts of the scimitars once belonging to Drizzt Do'Urden but now belonging to him. The first one, Twinkle (a magnificent one indeed!) had been a gift from Jarlaxle. The other, Icingdeath, he had taken himself from the ranger. Drizzt would no longer need them. He was just a small pawn in Gromph Baenre's game. The psionic sighed. If only he knew what that game was…


	2. Chapter 2

Quenthel glared at her brother suspiciously. She would not put it past Gromph to try and have her assassinated, or even attempt to kill her himself. Crenshinibon sat on the desk between them, glowing brightly with hope. It sensed Quenthel's power and was calling to her. Although its voices were being drowned out by the panic alarms rising in the priestess's head.  
"Crenshinibon," Gromph explained. "also known as The Crystal Shard."  
"Crenshinibon," Quenthel repeated, slowly reaching towards the artifact. Such vibrations of power it gave off, such promises it could make! Her fingers closed around it and she cast another Gromph another suspicious glance just to let him know she still did not fully trust him. Gromph responded with a smile.  
"What use does Lolth have for an artifact - no matter how powerful - recovered from the surface?" Quenthel asked, turning the Shard over in her slender, delicate hands. "Such a thing thrives on sunlight. It would be of little use here in Menzoberranzan."  
Gromph merely shrugged, feigning helplessness. There was no reason he should tell Quenthel that he had strengthened the Shard's ability to draw energy from any light, including the ones more common in Menzoberranzan.  
Quenthel looked the Shard over once more, admiring it. It was a simple thing, yet the aura of power that surrounded it was amazing. Perhaps such a thing could be put to Lolth's service. The priestess imagined what havoc it could wreak, what chaos would be ensued…  
"A gift, you say." She finally said.  
"A gift for Triel," Gromph nodded. "I felt no other than the High Priestess of Arach-Tilinith should deliver it."  
"I shall deliver it," Quenthel said absentmindedly. "Yes, I shall deliver it personally." She stood, long robes swishing around her ankles as she walked towards the door. Gromph watched her leave, and then sat back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.  
The Arch-Mage did not believe that any amount of chaos Crenshinibon could produce would bring Lolth back to the priestesses. He believed that the goddess had abandoned the drow - who had long grown boring to her. Perhaps she was ready to bestow her favor upon another race. But then what would become of the drow? Their existence revolved around the Spider Queen and her priestesses. Without them, they would fall into disorganization and chaos. Perhaps Lolth knew it all along; perhaps she had even planned it. Was she now sitting back and watching the drow destroy and kill each other, the perfect finale to a legacy that thrived on such things? Gromph believed so. He believed, also, that Menzoberranzan was in need of cleansing, in need of a new age to begin. Things had been the same for so long, the winds of change were a most welcome thing indeed.  
Gromph sat back to watch his carefully laid plans play themselves out, thoroughly pleased with himself.

Triel Baenre knelt by the altar, fists clenched by her sides, her nails digging half moons into her palms and blood streaming through her fingers. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut; her lips moved in fervent prayer, her face was upturned towards the image of Lolth that was carved above the altar. She had not moved from her position in many days, already her robes were beginning to hang more loosely over her frame from where she refused to pause even to eat. Her thick silver hair was now a tangled matt, her knees were sore from the constant kneeling.  
The First Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan cried out desperately for Lolth to come back to her, to give her some sort of sign, any sign. Her thin hands beat against the altar, smearing blood over the sacred images. There was nothing left to sacrifice, the Spider Queen's insatiable hunger for blood could not be appeased. There was not a sacrifice big enough. Triel feared that she herself would have to be the sacrifice!  
"Is it my blood you want?" she screamed, the hoarse sound came wrenched from her throat. "Take my blood! Take my blood!" she grabbed the dagger from her belt and slit her wrists, watching her lifeblood spill over the altar. "Take my blood, take all my blood!" she gritted her teeth against the pain and collapsed against the altar, shoulders shaking with unsuppressed sobs.  
"Do not abandon hope, Triel." Quenthel's voice came from beside her. Triel looked up to see her younger sister standing over her. Ashamed and embarrassed, Triel sat up straight, using a precious spell to heal her wrists and stop the blood flow as she tried to recover some of her lost dignity.  
"I have not abandoned hope," Triel snarled. Quenthel dropped to her knees beside her sister so that they were eye-to-eye.  
"Nor shall you ever have a need to," Quenthel assured her. She produced Crenshinibon from the folds of her robe.  
Triel took the Shard questioningly in her hands. There remained a steady thrum of power like a pulsing heart in her hands as she looked it over.  
"How will this allow us to regain Lolth's favor?" she asked incredulously.  
"Look at it!" Quenthel exclaimed. "It is the very embodiment of chaos. Surely, our beloved Spider Queen will forgive us whatever she believes we have committed when she sees what deeds we are performing…"  
Triel looked back to the Shard, allowing her sister to continue. It was a desperate maneuver, but at this point, it was all they had. And Triel realized she was willing to try anything if it could just put her back into Lolth's favor.  
Anything at all.

"They cry to you, day and night, do you not hear their pleas?"  
Lolth's lips curled back into a snarl, but she did not turn to regard her brother. Arphaeus continued to advance anyway, choosing to ignore the fact that she was paying him no mind.  
"I have grown bored with them," she finally replied. "they no longer hold my interest."  
"So what shall become of them?"  
Lolth merely shrugged.  
"Nice to know they have a goddess who cares," Arphaeus said dryly.  
"I am unpredictable," Lolth reminded him. "They know it and they love me for it. They revere me for it."  
"Yet you grow weary of their blind adoration. Why is that?"  
Lolth - again - only shrugged.  
Arphaeus sighed.  
"And what of that one, Gromph Baenre?" he asked.  
Lolth sneered at the mention of the Arch-Mage's name.  
"He is of no consequence. He is but a mere-"  
"Male?" Arphaeus finished for her. "Dear sister, I must protest against the disrepute bestowed upon my gender."  
Lolth looked down her nose at him with obvious disdain.  
"All males are inferior," she sniffed. "They are weak, stupid creatures who cannot think properly for themselves."  
Arphaeus's gold eyes flashed with rage. Living in Lolth's shadow while listening to her opinions on the male gender did not much improve his opinion on the fairer sex. He glared at her but did not reply, she happily continued.  
"In fact," she added. "I see no reason to continue this conversation. Be gone from me." She waved her hand dismissively and the conversation was closed.  
Arphaeus's hands balled into fists, but he turned and walked away as his sister commanded. He could not wait for her to make that one final slip that would cost her everything she had worked so hard to create.  
"I swear it, Lolth," he vowed under his breath. "One day, you shall be forgotten."

Jarlaxle closed his eyes and tried to imagine Crenshinibon in the hands of Quenthel Baenre. He shuddered inwardly at the thought. Had Gromph gone completely mad? After all the chaos, under all the stress, had the Arch-Mage finally cracked?  
Then again, maybe there was a method to his madness. It had long ago been whispered that Lolth was bored with the drow and had withdrawn from them completely, leaving them to eat each other alive. The priestesses were losing power and precious magic. If for just a fleeting instant, their hopes were rekindled, then they would be willing to try anything to clamber back into the Spider Queen's favor. When they tried (and then failed as they were certain to do) what would happen to the drow? They would become completely disorganized, murder in the open streets, confusion, utter brilliant chaos…  
And that, Gromph had explained, is where he and his new alliances stepped in to smooth things out, to restore order. Lolth had abandoned them, so they would stop practicing false hopes and beliefs and turn away from her to show that they could manage perfectly well on their own. Gromph Baenre intended to put himself into a position of great power. Jarlaxle had everything to gain if the scheme worked; he would rise in position, and with him would come Bregan D'aerthe.  
The thought brought a chuckle to the mercenary's lips. An entire city, ruled completely by males.  
He found that he did not dislike the idea.

Nothing ever worried Gromph Baenre; things almost always went exactly as he planned. Sorcere now had a solid alliance with Bregan D'aerthe, an alliance he could easily call upon if he had any need. Quenthel had taken the bait, and with a little persuasion he would soon have Triel likewise neatly snared. Drizzt Do'Urden was under the Arch-Mage's thumb as long as the human Catti-Brie was still a prisoner. Everything was going perfectly as planned. Better, even.  
So why, Gromph wandered, was he now beginning to doubt himself?  
He paced in a tight circle before his desk, shaking his head with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Upon summoning Crenshinibon, he hadn't stop to think of what the consequences might be if he failed. Of course there were ways to cover up the evidence against him, but Quenthel was ever persistent, and if she managed to get the tiniest piece of evidence, then she would have his head presented to Lolth on a gilded silver platter. The chances of that happening were slim, but Gromph knew that Jarlaxle would happily turn on him if he thought there was some profit in it.  
Gromph shook his head again more forcefully. No, failure was not an option.  
A sudden disturbance in the magic surrounding Gromph's office caused a tremor that nearly knocked him from his feet. The Arch-Mage moved with great agility and speed to avoid falling facedown on the floor, already preparing a spell to ward off the unwelcome intruder.  
A golden globe the size of Gromph's fist appeared hovering in the air in the middle of the room. The sphere began to swell in size, and Gromph hit it with a spell. The sphere merely absorbed the spell and continued to grow. It appeared to be feeding off any and all enchantments in the area, immediately the Baenre knew that any other attempts to destroy it with magic would be futile.  
The sphere was now the size of the Arch-Mage's head, and was becoming more transparent. A pair of eyes appeared, floating inside the orb. The eyes looked around the room twice before settling on Gromph. As the sphere grew, more additions to the eyes appeared. A face was soon added on to a head, a slender neck, a pair of pointed ears, and a thick mane of long black hair that had been plaited into cornrows. The golden orb grew even bigger until it was large enough to hold two drow, and Gromph was face-to-face with the likes of that which he had never before seen.  
The creature in the nearly lucid sphere was slender like a drow, although it was a good deal taller. Gromph estimated that it was somewhere close to seven feet tall. Its features, also closely resembling drow, were just masculine enough to keep it from being beautiful rather than handsome. Its skin was pale like that of a Surface elf, and its eyes were twin golden orbs sparkling with fire and intelligence. Its hair was black like night and braided in cornrows down its back. It was wearing a pair of black pants and black boots that ended just where its thigh started. It wore no shirt, allowing Gromph to see its perfectly formed, well-toned muscles on its stomach.  
"Well met, Gromph Baenre, Arch-Mage of Menzoberranzan." The creature spoke in an almost musical voice. Gromph's curiosity was piqued, yet he never allowed his guard to slip.  
"Yes, I know your name." The creature continued when Gromph didn't answer.  
"Then I'm afraid you have the advantage," Gromph said at last.  
The creature chuckled as if amused and bowed slightly from the waist.  
"I am Arphaeus," the creature announced.  
Surprise was written clearly on Gromph's face. Arphaeus was barely mentioned in drow legend, but when he was he was described as the brother of Lolth herself, who had been rejected because of his light skin and generally forgiving temperament. He was the villain of every story and a character to be looked down upon.  
And here he was, standing in the middle of Gromph's office in Sorcere, awaiting the Arch-Mage's next words.  
"I see," he finally said one he had gotten over his initial surprise. The deity threw back his head and laughed.  
"Is that really all you can say, powerful Arch-Mage?" Arphaeus teased. "Please, spare me your profound eloquence."  
Gromph scowled. He was already beginning to dislike Arphaeus, who was reminding him too much of a certain Pharaun Mizzrym who had fortunately perished not too long ago.  
"What do you want with me?" he demanded.  
"Lolth has abandoned her people," Arphaeus said gravely. "The drow's ultimate doom is near at hand."  
Gromph took a moment to ponder this, and then quickly replied, "Why tell me this?"  
"Because I want to make sure Lolth is forgotten, and I wish to see her legacy destroyed." Arphaeus hissed vehemently. "You can help me ensure that it happens, Gromph Baenre."  
"Why me?" Gromph asked again, immediately suspicious.  
"You are Menzoberranzan's Arch-Mage, are you not?" Arphaeus pointed out impatiently.  
"Yes…"  
"Then who better to come to? I know of your plans involving Crenshinibon, and I can help ensure that they fall through, if only you will agree to help me in return."  
Gromph thought about it for a moment. He and Arphaeus seemed to be playing on the same side of the board, but that did not give him reason to trust the lesser deity. If the plan worked, then Gromph would be in a bigger position of power than he would have dared envision. Then again, if it failed…well, what did he really have to lose?  
Everything.  
"It is tempting," the Arch-Mage finally admitted. "But I am not a novice, I know that nothing is for free. What strings are attached to this marvelous plan of yours?"  
Arphaeus blinked innocently.  
"No strings attached," he promised. "You must trust me, Gromph Baenre."  
Of course Gromph didn't trust him, he doubted he would ever trust Arphaeus completely. But Gromph kept his personal opinions to himself and extended a hand towards the deity, who accepted it. His hand was surprisingly warm.  
"It's a deal, then."


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm sure this is sacrilege," Kimmuriel remarked.  
"I hardly think Jarlaxle cares," Entreri said dryly.  
Drizzt said nothing; he just stood apart from the other two and glowered. With Catti-Brie's life hanging in the balance he would have to do whatever he was told…for now. But that didn't mean he had to like it.  
"If you're done pouting, may we get on with our mission?" Entreri asked, his voice lined with impatience.  
"By all means, do not wait up on me," Drizzt said. "Mind you this was not my idea in the first place. So don't waste your venom on me, assassin."  
Entreri muttered something uncomplimentary about the ranger under his breath. Nothing Drizzt said or did lately was within his character, but it wasn't just Drizzt, it was every wretched drow in the Underdark. It was as if something was now happening in Menzoberranzan to affect them. Entreri wondered idly if he should report his musings to Jarlaxle, who might have some meat to add to the theory.  
"Please, let us just get this over with, I beg," Kimmuriel said. "I do not wish to spend anymore time near this place than I have to."  
Entreri nodded his agreement.  
"You have the Spider Mask?" he asked Drizzt.  
Drizzt didn't answer; he merely nodded and gestured to his belt.  
The trio approached the gates of House Baenre. They towered several feet above the tallest of drow, and the metal bars as thick as Entreri's waist were crossed in the pattern of a spiderweb. The gates were rumored to have been a gift from Lolth herself, and had an enchantment on them that nothing, save for the Spider Mask, could get over.  
"I'll go in," Entreri volunteered, not completely trusting the two drow. "Hand me the mask."  
Drizzt obligingly handed over the Spider Mask. Entreri slipped it over his head and turned to the gates. He reached out with one hand cautiously and his fingers brushed the cool, smooth metal. His hand did not stick, so he assumed it was safe.  
"If I'm not back within the hour, you may presume me dead," he said to Kimmuriel. The psionic made a face, but he nodded. Most likely he was thinking that Jarlaxle would not be happy if they came bearing news of the assassin's death.  
Entreri gripped the bars of the gate and swung himself up and over, landing on both feet on the other side. House Baenre stood before him, tall and imposing. With a deep breath, he took a step forward.

The winding caverns under House Baenre's dungeons were probably more dangerous than House Baenre itself. There were many twists and turns, one tunnel leading to another or two different entrances ending up being the same ends of one long semi-circle, it was easy enough to get lost. Entreri brushed aside the numerous sticky spiderwebs that clung to his clothing and his skin. Small poisonous black spiders often came down with their webs only to be crushed underfoot a second later. Entreri did not even try and spare the "sacred" beings. If Lloth had truly abandoned her people, then the creatures were "sacred" no longer.  
Thus he took extra pleasure in crushing a particularly big one between his thumb and forefinger, ignoring the bumpy red bites that appeared on his skin a moment later.  
The assassin continued on his way, his boots leaving imprints in the soft, moist earth. No one, as far as he could tell, had been under the House for a long, long time. In fact it was said that no one had been in the caves since Triel Baenre's mother had been a young drow of sixty-two. And that was a very, very long time ago.  
Entreri wondered if Triel would ever live to be that ancient. The previous Matron Baenre had been old, even by drow standards. Over two thousand at the least. She had out-lived most of the drow from her time, and Triel had waited a long time to inherit the throne so to speak. But now that she had it, how long could she hold it?  
He stopped his musings long enough to stop and take stock of where he was. He had come straight to a dead end and found himself staring at a blank wall in front of him. The assassin frowned. Had he taken a wrong turn? He couldn't have. Jarlaxle had given him very specific details on the layout of the underground tunnels. Had the mercenary led him into a trap?  
Entreri turned around to consider which course he should take, but found himself staring at another blank wall. Now completely baffled, he whirled around and saw that the dead end was now behind him, and before him was an open room.  
The tunnels shift constantly, he thought. He shouldn't have expected any less from the drow. A small smile tugged at the corner of the assassin's lips as he took a step forward.  
The stone floor was laid in an intricate pattern; if one were gazing down from the roof they would have seen it was a spider with a large upraised diamond in the middle. The diamond shimmered with all the colors of the spectrum, reminding Entreri strongly of Jarlaxle's cloak of colors. Above the diamond, hovering in mid-air, was what appeared to be a large hunk of meat the size of both Entreri's fists. Purple and blue veins wrapped around it, pulsing. Entreri then knew that he was gazing at a heart.  
The constant steady thrumming that he had earlier mistaken as the intense magic in the air he now knew to be the heartbeat, drumming in time to his own. Why, he wondered, did Jarlaxle send him all the way here to retrieve a heart? And why was there a heart under House Baenre in the first place?  
Whatever the reasons, Entreri reasoned that he just had to grab the heart and get out. Jarlaxle would answer all questions later. But just plucking the grotesque item from the air seemed a little too easy.  
The assassin took a step forward, doubts screaming in his mind.  
Too easy, much too easy.  
Certainly too simple a task for House Baenre.  
Why hide something so well if you weren't going to go through the bother of protecting it?  
Arrogance, pure arrogance, confidence that no one could ever slip through their boundaries and come even remotely close to the heart, had been Matron Baenre's biggest fault.  
And now it would cost her dearly.  
Entreri took another step forward.  
As soon as he came within ten paces of the heart, a large black column came slamming down in front of the assassin, splitting the stones beneath it. Entreri drew his dagger and his sword, the blade glowing red. He glanced up, and realized he was standing before a drider.  
The assassin nearly laughed, now this was more like it.  
This drider was ten times bigger than a normal drider, which was twice the size of a drow. Which, of course, meant that Entreri was fiercely outmatched. However, that didn't mean he was about to turn the other way and run. He thrust his sword into the drider's leg, the magnificent blade going through the exoskeleton as if it were butter and protruding out the other side. The drider screamed and lunged forward, hands reaching out to grab the assassin. Entreri skittered to the side and pulled out his sword from the drider's leg, only to thrust it again into the nearest one. The drider whirled around, narrowly avoiding backhanding Entreri with a blow that would have sent him right through the wall. Entreri pumped his arm, and his dagger went spinning through the air, plunging nearly hilt-deep into the creature's abdomen. The drider reared in pain and screamed as it felt the dagger slowly start to drain it of its life.  
Entreri plunged his sword into two more of the drider's legs, and watched as the creature plunged downward, screaming hellishly all the while. He gripped his sword in both hands and began chopping furiously at the drider's bloated chest. The rotting flesh collapsed underneath his blade, leaving a black hole from which foul odors arose. And yet the drider still did not die. The tip of one of its waving legs became caught in Entreri's cloaked and speared his arm. The assassin gritted his teeth against the pain and with a well-aimed blow of his sword the tip of leg was severed cleanly off.  
He started chopping at the drider again; bits of flesh and exoskeleton went flying into the air. The drider screamed and thrashed, but Entreri was relentless. He continued hacking, and the drider's thrashing slowly decreased. At last, Entreri pulled himself away, blood trailing from his split lip, and he heaved his sword one last time in a killing blow.  
The drider's head exploded like an eggshell under his blow, a glob of something thicker than blood slammed into his cheek and began to ooze down.  
With a small cry of utter disgust, the assassin wiped the substance from his cheek and put his hand on the dagger that was still deep within the abdomen of the still twitching yet very much dead drider. The dagger drained the drider of any remaining life source it might have had, enough, at least, to heal the worst of the assassin's arm and put it on the mend. He wiped his blades on his ruined cloak (which he quickly discarded) and sheathed them, turning at last to the pulsing heart.  
It hovered barely a few feet over his head. Entreri raised his arm and plucked the thing from the air easily, pulling it down towards him. It was heavy and warm, it took him both hands to hold it, and it was more than a little tender. He flinched at the feel of it but reminded himself he had touched worse things, although this was not far off from the worst.  
Wrapped the heart up in the remains of his cloak and tucking the bundle under his arm, Entreri blew the whistle that hung on a black cord around his neck.  
A blinding flash of red light appeared in front of him. Entreri took one last look at the dead drider and then stepped through the portal, appearing right back to where he started, beside Drizzt and Kimmuriel outside the gates of House Baenre.  
"We were about to presume you dead," Kimmuriel informed him.  
"And it's a wonderful thing to see you too," Entreri replied. "Come on, let's get this thing to Jarlaxle. I don't want to have to hold it any longer than necessary, and if we stay out here dawdling long enough we're bound to get caught."  
"I wholly agree," Drizzt said. Both he and Entreri turned to Kimmuriel, who with a muttered spell and a quick hand pass transported them all back to Bregan D'aerthe.

Jarlaxle grimaced at the sight of the illithid. He did not like dealing with mind flayers, he found the creatures quite unsightly as well as beyond his understanding. Yharaskrik was probably the least pleasant of them all.  
"Have you learned anything of value?" Jarlaxle asked.  
"No," the mind flayer replied. "And I don't believe I shall. The human woman is useless to our cause, and it is best that she be killed."  
"We need her," Jarlaxle reminded the mind flayer. "we need her to keep Do'Urden in check."  
"There are other ways," Yharaskrik hissed. Jarlaxle shuddered at the thought of the intense mind torture that the illithid could put Drizzt through. Jarlaxle would never do that, not even to Drizzt, the thought was just too gruesome for even the most sadistic of drow minds.  
"Gromph Baenre is one his way here," he reminded Yharaskrik. "We shall discuss this another time."  
Yharaskrik growled but allowed the matter to drop. He bowed himself out of Jarlaxle's office, tentacles brushing the floor.  
Jarlaxle sighed once the door had closed after Yharaskrik, relieved that he had at last gone. The mercenary ran a hand over his bald, sweating head before he set the hat back on.  
"What did you learn from the mind flayer?" Gromph asked. Jarlaxle looked up. He had not seen the Baenre enter the room.  
"A fine greeting to you too, Archmage." Jarlaxle said dryly.  
"What did you learn?" Gromph demanded again.  
"Nothing of importance," Jarlaxle replied, for once telling the bold and honest truth. Truth was still something the mercenary was not used to and was quite uncomfortable with.  
Gromph sat down in front of Jarlaxle's desk, meeting the mercenary leader's gaze squarely.  
"Has Artemis Entreri returned yet?" he asked. Jarlaxle shook his head.  
"Are you planning on letting me in on your scheme?" he asked the Archmage. "I don't do all of this for nothing, you know."  
Gromph sat back, glancing at Jarlaxle from over the tips of his steepled fingers.  
"You've heard of Arphaeus," it was a statement more than a question.  
"Yes," Jarlaxle replied, wondering where the Archmage was getting at.  
Gromph told him all about the previous night.  
"He wants to bring down Lloth and make sure she is banished from the memories of the drow," he finally concluded.  
"I don't blame him," Jarlaxle replied flippantly while trying to digest the new information. And, as always, searching for a way on how he might profit from it. "So when will your god-friend join us?"  
"Soon," Gromph promised. "Once your human assassin returns bearing his prize."  
As if right on cue, there was a knock on Jarlaxle's office door. With a wave of his hand, the door swung open, and Artemis Entreri stepped in, flanked by Drizzt and Kimmuriel.  
"You have it?" Jarlaxle and Gromph asked nearly at the same time.  
Entreri nodded and set a heavy bundle wrapped up in the shredded, ruined remains of his cloak on the stone desk. Gromph reached towards it, almost eagerly, and carefully peeled away the blood-soaked strips of cloth.  
Everyone in the room stopped breathing, save Entreri, who had seen it all before. Jarlaxle leaned forward in excitement and stared even more intently at the bloody lump on his desk. He knew very well what he was staring at, and it excited him greatly.  
He was staring at the heart of Lloth.


	4. Chapter 4

"Lloth!"  
Lloth did not deign to glance at her brother when she replied, "What is it now, Arphaeus?"  
"You will regret turning your back on the drow," he promised her.  
Enraged, Lloth turned to him, anger blazing in her crimson eyes.  
"How dare you!" she screamed. "How dare-" the words died in her throat when she saw what Arphaeus was holding in his hand. Her eyes widened, it was her heart.  
"How did you come by that?" she demanded. Arphaeus noted the tremor in her voice with a satisfied smirk.  
"Your loyal slaves have betrayed you, Lloth, as you have betrayed them," he said. "It was your own arrogance that led to your downfall. Convinced that no one could find the heart, convinced that no one could overthrow House Baenre without your consent…it shall be your demise, my dear sister."  
"A new empire shall arise," he continued. "A new empire in the name of Arphaeus!"  
Lloth snarled and lunged for him, but he stepped aside easily. She spun around just in time to see him plunge a steel blade deep into her heart.  
"You are forgotten," he whispered, as he watched the Spider Queen die.

Using her powers of levitation, Triel Baenre explored the many wonders of the crystal tower. Indeed, it was a far more fitting palace than House Baenre! The ability to shift and move things about as easily as blinking pleased her greatly. She had felt desolate for the past few days; certain Lloth had abandoned her forever, and felt like nothing more than a discarded carcass for her powers. No more! Her powers had returned to her, greater than ever, surely the Matron had once more fallen into Lloth's favor!  
She did not know that these powers were limited to the crystal tower, or that they came not from Lloth but rather Crenshinibon itself. She refused to admit to herself that she didn't care where the powers came from; she just knew she didn't feel lost or misguided any longer.  
Lost, perhaps she was not. But she was still very much misguided.  
Gromph soon joined her, as pleased as she with the progress yet for a very different reason. To Gromph, Crenshinibon's tower was just another sign that victory was near at hand. He looked up and envisioned it all crashing down on top of Triel's head. The thought brought a smile to his lips.  
"It is a miraculous thing, brother," Triel remarked. "House Baenre basks in Lloth's glory once more."  
"Indeed," Gromph nodded his agreement. Triel seemed satisfied with the vague answer and continued to ascend, pleased as a child who had been given a fascinating new toy to play with. Everywhere she looked she saw power and personal gain. It left Jarlaxle marveling once more at the shallowness of his fellow drow. The mercenary shook his head and leaned against the wall, perfectly content to wait at the bottom to be joined by his companions. He had held Crenshinibon in his very hands, the Crystal Shard's power had been his to construct. He had constructed whole towers on the surface! There was nothing new that Triel Baenre could show him, he had seen it all before.  
Yet, he could not help but be amazed at the tower's sheer size. The ones he had constructed on the surface seemed small and humble compared to this new monstrosity. Triel had meant it when she said that she was going to construct herself a palace. The mercenary chuckled to himself. A place to worship Lloth indeed, more like a place to worship Triel!  
Jarlaxle knew very well that the Spider Queen was dead. Gromph knew it, too, and did not seem overly upset. The Archmage had not been one of Lloth's most devout followers; anyone who knew him well enough could see that. Yet he played his part well, back when it saved him from the wrath of his mother, and when he still needed his sisters for protection. Back when their protection was still worth something, that is.  
But now a new era was dawning, and Gromph no longer needed his sisters. He only needed Gromph. The mercenary prayed that here would not be a time when the Archmage decided he no longer needed Jarlaxle.  
Triel finally finished exploring every nook and cranny there was to explore in the tower, and she and her brother slowly eased themselves back down to the ground. Jarlaxle pulled off his hat and swept a low, courtly bow. Then he brought himself back up and plopped his hat back onto his bald head before resuming his previous position.  
"Greetings, Jarlaxle," Triel's voice held all the warmth of an icecube. Jarlaxle smiled.  
"And a good day to you, too, Matron Mother," he replied, ignoring Gromph's expression as he rolled his eyes. "I was just admiring the … magnificence of your tower."  
"It is magnificent, is it not?" Triel's smile was genuine now. Crenshinibon hung from a braided cord on her neck, and she was stroking it like a cat. "Do you not doubt that it will bring much glory Spider Queen?"  
Much glory to Triel, you mean. Jarlaxle added in his thoughts, but he kept that part to himself. Instead, he swept off his hat again and gave her another low bow. "I whole-heartedly agree."  
Gromph's frown had reached dangerous proportions. Jarlaxle held back a snicker. He knew his flippancy annoyed Gromph much more than it annoyed Triel, who seemed to be eating his words up.  
"You do not agree with Jarlaxle?" Triel asked, addressing Gromph this time. Gromph looked at her but did not shake off his general expression.  
"Naturally I agree with him," the Archmage nearly snapped. "He's right, of course. The tower is a praiseworthy thing indeed and will bring much glory to the Spider Queen." Gromph nodded curtly to his sister, then spun on his heel and turned towards the door, motioning for Jarlaxle to follow, who did so with a tip of his hat and a click of his heel to the Matron Mother. "Something has put you in a sour mood today," the mercenary leader said once he caught up with the Archmage. "And here I thought you would be pleased with the progress."  
"I am pleased," the Archmage growled. Jarlaxle smiled broadly.  
"If this is your pleasure, my friend, I would dearly hate to see your displeasure."  
"That would be too much to ask, Jarlaxle."

"It's beautiful," Quenthel said breathlessly, truly awestruck by the sight of Crenshinibon's tower.  
"Yes, it is," Triel replied, beaming.  
"What does Gromph think of it?"  
Triel's smile quickly turned into a scowl.  
"His opinion does not matter," she snapped.  
"But does he approve of-"  
"I do not need his approval!" Triel screeched. Quenthel looked at her volatile sister in surprise and wisely back down.  
"Of course not," she reasoned. "Forgive me, I was only curious." She glanced back to the tower. Quenthel was suddenly questioning the wisdom of her choice. The Crystal Shard seemed to have completely possessed her sister. She didn't know whether the presence of the tower in Menzoberranzan was a good thing or not.

Catti-Brie shivered in the darkness, tears welling up unbidden in her blue eyes and spilled freely over her cheeks. She tried desperately to think of Mithril Hall, of Bruenor Battlehammer, her adopted father. Of Regis, the halfling who had grown so dear to her heart. She tried to think of Wulfgar, the barbarian who she had once promised to wed. And she tried to think of Drizzt, who she loved so dearly and who she would give anything to see again.  
But she could not think of any of those things, all the comforting images had been stripped away from her mind, leaving nothing but black, unoccupied spaces. The illithid had entered and tortured her mind, and then left her in the darkness with no images of home to comfort her.  
She heard a door open, and she feared it was another illithid. Or was it the same one, coming back to torture her again? She whimpered and curled up again, burying her face into her chest. Something touched her arm, and she was so surprised she cried out.  
"Shh, beautiful one," came a whispered voice from the darkness. Catti-Brie looked up in surprise and relief to see it was not another mind flayer horror, but rather Jarlaxle, leader of the mercenary band Bregan D'aerthe.  
"Jarlaxle!" she cried, relieved, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. Jarlaxle hesitated, and cursed himself for it. Why had he volunteered for the job to come and finish off the young woman? One glance at his eyes told Catti-Brie what he meant to do.  
"Oh, please, no," she sobbed. "I just want to be seein' Drizzt again, I just want to be seein' him!" she burst into a fresh gust of tears. Jarlaxle sighed.  
"I am afraid we must part on bad terms," he told her. Catti-Brie sniffed and sobbed, her nose was beginning to bleed.  
Jarlaxle cursed his bleeding heart and began to walk towards the door. Halfway there he met up with Yharaskrik, who stood blocking the doorway.  
"Finish the job!" The evil mind flayer commanded him. Jarlaxle glared and shook his head.  
"FINISH THE JOB!" The mind flayer exclaimed more intensely. "Now, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life, drow!"  
Jarlaxle growled and spun around, a dagger flying from the depths of his cloak and striking the surprised Catti-Brie solidly in the back, piercing her heart and a lung.  
"Curse ye drow," she moaned breathlessly. And then she died.  
Jarlaxle stalked past Yharaskrik, his boots echoing loudly in the now deadly silent hall.

Drizzt heard of Catti-Brie's death long before Jarlaxle found the chance to tell him.  
"It was for the best," Kimmuriel reassured him. "She was only human, after all."  
Drizzt gritted his teeth but said nothing.  
"I resent that," Entreri said from the corner. Kimmuriel laughed.  
"You may be human on the outside, assassin, but you're just as much as a drow as I am on the inside."  
That hit a sore spot, and Entreri turned his head.  
Drizzt gave a frustrated cry and grabbed Charon's Claw from Entreri's belt. The assassin tried to grab his wrist, but the lightning-fast drow was much too quick. He grabbed the sword and turned its red blade on Kimmuriel, who had stopped laughing.  
"Catti-Brie was not just human!" Drizzt exclaimed. Kimmuriel drew made a show of drawing Twinkle and Icingdeath from either side of his hip.  
"Such fleeting lives they have," the psionic continued to tease. "I wonder how long she might have lasted had Jarlaxle not killed her. Twenty, thirty more years?"  
Charon's Claw snaked forward, Kimmuriel beat it aside with the scimitars.  
"Humans grow old, Do'Urden, they wither and they die." he said.  
"Yes," Drizzt agreed. "As do we all, unless our lives are cut short by the blade of an enemy." He put special emphasis on that last statement as he thrust Charon's claw again. Kimmuriel managed to parry the blow, but just barely.  
The psionic had apparently forgotten that Drizzt had been trained by Zak'nafein Do'Urden.  
Drizzt brought Charon's Claw down in a whirl of furious cuts and twists. His feet and hands worked in perfect balance, and although Kimmuriel was a good fighter, he was no match for the ranger.  
Drizzt raised the sword, leaving a perfect opening for the psionic. Kimmuriel foolishly went for it, and Charon's Claw snapped down, sending Twinkle spinning from Kimmuriel's grasp. Armed now with only one scimitar, Kimmuriel crouched low and crab-walked to the side. The red sword came down again and Kimmuriel again just barely managed a parry. Another thrust, another parry. Drizzt quickly grew bored of the game and Charon's Claw came spinning towards the psionic, cutting a graceful, deadly arc through the air. Icingdeath clattered to the ground, giving off a hollow echo. The tip of Charon's Claw was placed against Kimmuriel's throat, ready for a killing thrust.  
No one had noticed that Jarlaxle had entered the room.  
"Go ahead, Drizzt," Jarlaxle urged him on. "Kill him, pick up your scimitars and cut short his life. Embrace the black and white side of you that you have been holding in for so long."  
Drizzt hesitated, and he didn't know why. A rush of emotions washed over him all at once. The loss of Catti-Brie, the loss of everything he had ever known, gone in a simple instant, replaced by this strange exotic world that should be so familiar to him yet it was not.  
Drizzt closed his eyes, fighting with himself. Fighting the urge to plunge the sword right through Kimmuriel's throat. Fighting the urge to do as Jarlaxle said and give in to his other side - his drow side. Fighting the urge to kill.  
Why didn't he? he argued with himself. Why didn't he run Kimmuriel right through, as the psionic very well deserved? Drizzt realized then that the only reason he would consider the decision was because he felt he had nothing left to lose.  
Nothing, perhaps, save for the respect he held for himself.  
Drizzt dropped the point of Charon's Claw so that it was no longer resting at the psionic's throat, and then he set the sword onto the ground. He picked up his scimitars and sheathed them, then he walked quietly from the room.  
Kimmuriel rubbed the spot where the sword had nearly speared him, appreciating for the first time how truly beautiful breathing can be. Jarlaxle stood close by the door, a grim smile on his face.  
No one was paying any attention to Entreri when he asked irritably, "May I have my sword back now?"


	5. Chapter 5

"I almost wish he'd killed me," Kimmuriel mused aloud. Entreri glanced up briefly from sharpening his dagger.  
"Now why do you say that?" he asked, returning the dagger to its sheathe on his hip. Kimmuriel gave a bitter laugh.  
"Because," he replied. "If he doesn't, then Jarlaxle will get around to it sooner or later."  
"What makes you say that?" Entreri asked, folding his arms and leaning against the wall, mildly intrigued. He had never liked Kimmuriel much, but then again Entreri had never liked anyone very much. Kimmuriel waved his hand dismissively.  
"You are not drow," he said. "You would not understand."  
"If I remember your earlier remark correctly, I am drow in everything but skin color." Entreri sneered.  
"You have the heart of a drow," Kimmuriel clarified. "You think like a drow, you feel like a drow, but yet you do not know the drow ways, or are rules for things."  
"I have been down here for three years, I'm beginning to pick up." Entreri never took his burning gaze off of the psionic.  
"Jarlaxle will kill me because I'm a challenge to his throne,"  
Entreri raised an eyebrow.  
"You mean his control over Bregan D'aerthe?" he questioned. Kimmuriel nodded solemnly.  
To the psionic's surprise, Entreri burst out laughing.  
"What is so funny?" he demanded. Entreri did not stop; he clutched the wall to keep himself from falling over, shoulders shaking with unsuppressed mirth.  
"Trust me, if you were a threat to Jarlaxle, you would have been disposed of long ago," the human assassin assured him once he managed to catch his breath.  
"I do not find that entirely comforting,"  
"Pity. Because you should."  
Kimmuriel scowled at him, but it only increased the assassin's mirth.  
"But Jarlaxle…" the psionic began to insist. Entreri shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.  
"Oh, don't flatter yourself." He said, at last straightening. With that said, he gathered up his bearings and went to go see the mercenary leader himself.

Jarlaxle shoved one stack of scrolls aside and set another one in front of him. He sat back and rubbed his one uncovered eye wearily. Going over the scrolls was probably more exhausting to the mercenary than a thousand days of fighting hand-to-hand combat with House Baenre. Of course, it had to be done, and the mercenary leader figured he would have little time for paperwork when - if - Gromph's plan succeeded. Jarlaxle figured that then he would have more important things on his mind. Staying alive, for instance. He was also pondering on an effective way to switch sides if things took a dramatic turn. Whichever side went down, Jarlaxle didn't care, he just didn't want to go down with them. He always thought a fall looked better from the victor's point of view.  
A sharp knock on the door shattered his reverie. Jarlaxle growled, knowing he was never going to get a thing done with the continuous interruptions.  
"Who is it?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.  
"Entreri," came the voice from the other side. "Don't tell me you're busy."  
"Of course I'm busy!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, annoyed but not letting that assassin know that. "Do you think I sit here playing sava with myself all day?"  
"May I come in? Or do you prefer I stay here and shout this entire conversation through the door?" Entreri made no mood to hide his own annoyance.  
There was a small pause.  
"Jarlaxle?" Entreri questioned when the mercenary didn't answer.  
"I'm thinking about it," Jarlaxle teased, smiling.  
"Jarlaxle!"  
"Oh, alright, if you insist." Jarlaxle waved his hand, and the door opened. In stepped a fuming Entreri.  
"You're a bastard, Jarlaxle." Entreri replied, seething. Jarlaxle chuckled.  
"You could have shouted that through the door. I'm sure the soldiers in the hall would have enjoyed hearing it." He said, jovial as usual.  
"And then had their voiceboxes ripped out if they so much as snickered," the assassin replied evenly. Jarlaxle laughed again and gestured for Entreri to have a seat.  
"What is it you have come to me with, my dearest of friends?" the mercenary leader asked, parting his pile of scrolls down the middle so he could better view Entreri from a more comfortable angle. He sat back; tilting the brim of his enormous hat low so that is shaded his eyes. Entreri noticed that Jarlaxle was wearing the eyepatch on his left eye this time rather than his usual right. He didn't know what the signified, if anything at all. Jarlaxle, the most composed of people, distracted?  
As if reading his mind, Jarlaxle's eyepatch quickly swapped eyes. Now it covered its usual resting place. For some absurd reason the gesture made Entreri feel a bit better.  
"What is it?" Jarlaxle asked again, sitting back in his chair, his jewelry clinking with every movement. The noise bothered the assassin. He shook his head, what was wrong with him today?  
"Kimmuriel is certain that you are going to kill him," Entreri finally managed to reply. Jarlaxle gave an amused smile.  
"Now why would I do that?" he asked.  
"I told him the notion was absurd."  
"Not absurd," Jarlaxle was quick to correct. "I just have no reason to kill him."  
"He has not yet given you one," Entreri reasoned. Jarlaxle's smile grew wider - if that was possible. Entreri shook his head. The drow was too easily amused.  
"How are your plans making progress?" he asked. The abrupt change of conversation did not faze Jarlaxle, or did not seem to, yet his smile wilted a bit around the edges.  
"I have not heard from Gromph in many days," Jarlaxle replied. "My guess is that either things are going quite well and nothing has changed - or things have taken a dramatic turn for the worse, our plot has been uncovered, and he is either dying or dead."  
"You always were a dramatist," Entreri said wearily. "I'm sure things are going splendidly, just like you planned all along."  
"I guess it never hurts to be optimistic," Jarlaxle replied happily.  
"I can assure you I do not know the cause for your sudden pessimism,"  
"I always tend to look at the downside of things, that way I am pleasantly surprised when things go otherwise."  
"I never knew you to have such a theory before,"  
"That's because I just made it up," the mercenary waved his hand again, and a goblin slave scurried forward, bearing a tray that held two crystal glasses and a bottle of fine wine. The slave set the tray on the desk and reached for the bottle, but Jarlaxle waved him away and picked the bottle up himself, uncorking it with a simple twist and a pull. "Really, Entreri, you are too stressed. You are getting paranoid."  
"I am not paranoid," Entreri replied grumpily. Jarlaxle arched one eyebrow skeptically and handed the assassin a glass of the deep red wine, and it was readily accepted.  
"I am not paranoid," Entreri repeated once he had drained the glass of every last drop. Jarlaxle sipped his wine, allowing the sweet libation to linger on his tongue.  
"As you say," he too easily complied. Entreri cast him a suspicious look, but Jarlaxle ignored it, managing to look completely innocent as he finished off his wine. "More wine?" Entreri nodded, and Jarlaxle refilled his glass.

Gromph Baenre was in no mood to be patronized, and particularly not by his sister Quenthel. So upon leaving Arach-Tinilith, he was in a foul mood indeed.  
Woe to the unfortunate messenger who scurried to his side at that moment.  
"This had better be important," Gromph growled dangerously. The messenger's eyes widened, but he bowed to the Archmage.  
"Sir, I have the information you requested…sir."  
"Then let's have it and be done with it," Gromph did not stop his quick, long-legged strides. The messenger struggled to keep up, panting his message.  
"Matron Mother Triel Baenere has announced today that more crystal towers should be built," he said breathlessly. Gromph hid a smile.  
"How many more?" he demanded.  
"There are to be eight crystal towers in all, one for each of the eight ruling houses, House Baenere included, sir."  
"Seven more towers are to be constructed!" Gromph mused, more to himself than to the messenger. "When will these towers be completed?"  
"Tomorrow afternoon, sir, at the very latest."  
Gromph nodded, this time not even hiding the cold smile that spread across his face.

"Eight towers," Gromph dared to think Arphaeus was excited, nay, ecstatic at the news.  
"The more towers, the greater the threat." Gromph reminded the avatar. Arphaeus raised his highly arched eyebrows in amusement.  
"The more towers, the greater our victory!" he crowed. Gromph did well to hide his expression of contempt. He had never seen an avatar act so un-godlike in his entire six hundred years. Why, Arphaeus was practically bouncing off the walls!  
"You look like an over-excited child," Gromph said. "I suggest you calm down."  
Arphaeus glared at him coldly. Most would have flinched at using such words against such an obviously powerful deity, especially one who was so completely aiding their cause. Gromph, however, did not care about that at all. He got his point across, Arphaeus calmed down.  
"How long until we can pull down the towers?" Gromph asked once the avatar was calm again. Arphaeus shrugged and glared at the Archmage, intending to pay him back. Gromph barely resisted rolling his eyes at such a display of childishness.  
"We must bide our time and wait," the deity coldly deigned to reply. "Else we are doomed to failure."  
Gromph drummed his fingers anxiously against the surface of the desk. Waiting he had no problem with. It was waiting for too long with an overly energetic and cocky young avatar that he was afraid would stretch his patience thin.  
If the messenger was to be believed (and Gromph saw no reason to doubt as to why he should be) then Triel's new towers would be set up by the next evening. He must allow time for her confidence to build after that, allow her to think she was safe, that she was once again basking in the glories and favor of the now long-dead Lloth. If for only a few months, Gromph could make her believe she was safe, then he could strike quickly and cleanly, and perhaps sooner than he expected.  
Arphaeus sat in a plush, comfortable chair just opposite of Gromph's desk, nitpicking at a loose thread on an expensive embroidered pillow. The god's obvious disinterest in the conversation almost anger Gromph, but he wisely kept his temper in check.  
"I must go now," Arphaeus said, at last rising. "I have many things to attend to before our moment of triumph."  
Gromph gave the deity no more than a curt nod before its departure. For it was well known the Gromph Baenre bent no knee to anyone, avatar or otherwise.


End file.
